


if you wanna make it through the night

by featherx



Series: requests [10]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherx/pseuds/featherx
Summary: “Call me Yuri,” the man says, so easily it takes Ashe by surprise. “But don’t worry. If I can’t call you by name, I’ll just have to think of my own for you. Hm… how does little bird sound?”The man’s—Yuri’stongue curls over the words, dancing across the syllables. Ashe forces himself not to swallow. “You’ll have to try a little harder. There are lots of birds out there, you know.”“What a picky sparrow.” Yuri grins, cocks his head tauntingly to the side. “Satisfied yet?”
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc
Series: requests [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1388335
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	if you wanna make it through the night

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: yuriashe!  
> title from [the good, the bad, and the dirty - panic! at the disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nu55xS1TdoU)  
> i've never written yuriashe before so i had to scour their entire ao3 tag (all one page of it) to get their dynamic down better and in the end i just. did this. hope u like it anon...! thanks for requesting ❤
> 
> i'm not sure how to describe this but it's still set in fodlan, just like...assume the officers academy doesn't exist LOL  
> rated M for some suggestive stuff near the end but (as usual) nothing explicit

Ashe scours the ballroom for what must be the fifth time within the past half hour, but there’s still no sign of his mark. He resists groaning aloud and takes a polite sip of his champagne instead, if only to have something to do.

How long has it been since he’d arrived here? It must have been an hour already, maybe more, and though Ashe is as fond of socializing as any assassin is, he’s growing quite tired of the ball. All he really wants is to find his mark, kill her as quickly and cleanly as possible, and then collapse back home to his bed and his cats. Even the food they’re serving isn’t as good as they had advertised it to be—honestly, had any of these cooks been introduced to seasoning?

Someone settles into the chair beside his, and Ashe looks up tiredly. The flash of purple hair catches his immediate attention at first, but he mentally deflates when he realizes it’s still not his mark. “You look exhausted,” the man says, offering a smile. No, a smirk?

Whatever it is, Ashe smiles back. “It’s been a long night, I guess.” It’s actually barely eleven, but it’s felt much longer than that.

“Hmph. I agree. Spending so much time with these stuffy nobles is making me feel ready to choke on my champagne.” The man downs his drink in one gulp, then sets the glass aside on a nearby table. There’s something familiar about the glint in his eye, as if Ashe had seen him before, in a place where memories were vague enough to be dreams. “What are you here for? Surely not to make friends, else you wouldn’t be speaking with me right now.”

“Ah, well… I was waiting for a friend, actually, but she never came.” Ashe frowns. He doesn’t even have to force himself to. “I heard the food was going to be good too, but it’s sub-par at best. Disappointing, really.”

The man grins. “It _is,_ isn’t it? A two-minute sandwich of mine could probably taste better than all five courses they’ve served.”

“Oh, yes! Even their bread was stale. My cats would claw my eyes out if I tried to feed it to them.”

Another smile. Ashe doesn’t know whether to be more charmed or unnerved, because he learned long ago that people who handed out smiles like free candy were the last people to trust. “You’re _cute,_ ” the man says, leaning closer with a razor-sharp smile. “What’s your name, hm? Let me guess… you look like an Oliver.”

Huh. Two can play at that game. “Names are dangerous,” Ashe tells him, slow and sweet. There’s no evident surprise in the man’s face, but something glimmers tellingly in his eyes. “Tell me yours first, and I might consider it.”

He’s never been a noble, but spending enough time around them means he knows how to act the part.

As expected, the man draws back, but not without another flirtatious smile. “Call me Yuri,” he says, so easily it takes Ashe by surprise. “But don’t worry. If I can’t call you by name, I’ll just have to think of my own for you. Hm… how does _little bird_ sound?”

The man’s— _Yuri’s_ tongue curls over the words, dancing across the syllables. Ashe forces himself not to swallow. “You’ll have to try a little harder. There are lots of birds out there, you know.”

“What a picky sparrow.” Yuri grins, cocks his head tauntingly to the side. “Satisfied yet?”

Of all times for Ashe to run out of words. “I—That’s…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Yuri leans back on his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Who’s this friend of yours, anyway? They wouldn’t be Count Varley’s daughter, would they? Because I haven’t seen her all night either, and I’m starting to get a little curious. This place is big, but surely not big enough to keep a recluse in for the last twenty-odd years.”

 _Shit._ This man knows Bernadetta von Varley? Then again, she _is_ a noble and the heir of Count Varley, the host of the ball, but the way Yuri speaks makes it sound like he’s more than just a little curious about her. Could she be his mark, too? No, first of all, is this man an assassin as well? Ashe had never heard of him before until now… though he doubts _Yuri_ is his real name anyway.

“Do you know her?” Ashe finally decides on asking.

“Peh, no. What do you take me for? I hardly even know what she looks like.” Yuri raises a brow. “Do _you_ know _her?_ ”

Ashe somehow manages to bring up a smile. “No, of course not.”

Well, if Bernadetta wasn’t going to show up to the ball, Ashe would just have to look for her himself.

He sneaks out of the grand hall once the nobles begin to grow too red in the face from wine to notice him—the corridors of Count Varley’s manor twist and turn everywhere, but Ashe had spent the better part of today memorizing its layout. Now that he’s finally away from the party, he loosens his too-tight tie (thank the goddess, he can _breathe)_ and adjusts his coat until his knife is in much easier reach.

There—now he’s ready for a kill.

It wasn’t like Ashe _wanted_ this life, really. As a child, he used to peer out from the alleyway he and his siblings had lived in to watch the knights go on their daily patrol through the streets, and everyday he thought, _I want to be like them!_ To be brave and gallant and ride into battle for one’s country and beliefs—it definitely sounded nice to an orphan with little brothers and sisters to feed.

Except knights needed money. Barring that, connections. Barring that, strength. And Ashe had scrounged in the dirt for all three of those, but had come up with only his poor, lone, weakling self.

He still can’t quite forget how the rain-soaked dirt tasted when he’d approached a passing knight to ask for food, and he had been kicked so hard to the side he had barely even registered the pain until he tried to stand and something in him gave out. How had he recovered? Ashe couldn’t remember—all that remained with him was the pain of that day, the mud on his tongue, the beat of the rain against his body, before he passed out and woke up by the trash bins next to his alleyway.

Being an assassin was nearly the complete opposite of a knight—assassins worked for themselves and themselves alone, and they took lives for cold, hard gold. But Ashe was _good_ at it—he was small, and fast, and above everything else, _desperate_ for the money. In a way, he supposes what he does now isn’t quite so different from being a knight—only he’s fighting for his siblings rather than his country, and he’s taking lives to protect them, too. At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself to fall asleep at night.

He sighs, and it’s cold enough even in the manor that he can see his breath before him.

“Looking a little down there again, aren’t you?”

Ashe calmly slides his knife out of its leather sheath. “Come out.” He knows, of course, where Yuri is, but he’d rather not let Yuri know he knows. Everything’s a mind game when it comes to people like him… no, people like _them._

He doesn’t need to see Yuri to hear the pout in his voice. “You won’t even let me have a bit of fun with you?” The curtains by the open window beside him flutter ever-so-slightly, and Yuri steps out from behind with a little grin. “Boo. How are you doing, little sparrow? I see you’re on the hunt.”

Ashe narrows his eyes, but he forces a tight smile anyway. “So you knew.”

“And you must have suspected.”

“What do you want? Surely you’re not here just to follow me around.” Ashe keeps his hand on his knife, but walks ahead of Yuri. Far too many people have tried to stab Ashe while his back was turned on them for Ashe to _not_ be an expert at cutting them off by now.

“Hm? Of course I’m here for you.” Yuri moves too fast for Ashe to react—one second he’s several steps behind him, and in the next he’s somehow brushing his fingers against the back of Ashe’s knuckles, sending Ashe stumbling back and nearly cutting his hand off. Yuri grins again, but there’s something dark and hungry in the way he all but bares his teeth. “I’ve heard stories about the little gray bird. How he’s not afraid to soak his feathers in blood.”

Ashe suppresses a scowl and keeps the smile firmly in place. Smiles went a long way, he’d learned over the years, whether they were real or just another melody for dumb nobles to dance along to. “You flatter me. But I’m not interested.”

Yuri tilts his head. “Surely you can go without one kill tonight. You can’t leave pretty little me something to bring home to the family?”

 _Family?_ Ashe wants to cut the man’s chest open and show him what _family_ means—his heart on the floor, blood seeping into the carpet while his younger brother burns his hands on the blacksmith’s fires and his younger sister lies fever-hot and freezing cold. “As far as I know, we don’t cut deals with each other.”

“As far as _you_ know.” Yuri smiles again, this time looking somehow more fond. “You know, I meant what I said. You _are_ cute. But not cut out for this life.”

“Who are you to tell me that?” Ashe tries to snap, but his voice comes out more curious than anything. The way Yuri speaks implies that he’s been working as an assassin for a significant period of time—not his words or what he says, really, but _how_ he says them. Ashe couldn’t have thought of anyone else whose voice flowed smooth as water and tempting as a siren.

Yuri shrugs. “You’re meant for bigger things than trawling the slums of Faerghus and the hallways of nobles like this.” He pauses, then smirks at Ashe’s still-confused look. “I’m hurt. I thought you’d remember, even after all these years.”

“What do you…”

Ashe stares. Something familiar about the glint in his eye—

“The knight.” Ashe steps back, trying and failing to hide the tremble in his hands. “It—It was raining—that day, I—”

“You were awfully high-maintenance,” Yuri says casually, lips curling up in an amused smile. “I thought you were going to die on me more than once. How much medicine did I drop on you? Definitely more than I could afford. But I couldn’t bring myself to abandon you, because I just had a big old heart like that. So that’s why I’m telling you—” Yuri leans forward and jabs his thumb at Ashe’s chest. Ashe steps back again, forcing down the panic rising up his throat. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Ashe whispers. “Steal your mark? Yuri, I—I owe you for what happened then, but my siblings—”

Yuri shakes his head. “Not just that. You wouldn’t remember, but you told me you wanted to be a knight. ‘Course, you were half-delirious from fever, but I saw you a few times on the streets. You looked at the knights like they were everything.”

Ashe sighs and looks down, if only to avoid Yuri’s piercing gaze. His eyes feel sharp enough to stare right into his soul, down to the deepest depths of his being. “They were,” he mutters. “Emphasis on the past tense. Even if I still wanted to be like them, I…”

 _Can’t,_ Ashe should say, but the word gets stuck in his throat and refuses to go any further.

Yuri draws back, shaking his head. “Oh, well.”

“Oh, well?” Ashe frowns.

“Oh, well, I’ve spent enough time playing around here.”

And then, before Ashe can properly process the words, Yuri’s already racing past him down the hall, his sprints still feather-light and completely soundless. “Oh,” Ashe groans, “you have to be _kidding_ me—” but he doesn’t have time to complain, and he kicks into a run as well. If he lets Yuri get past him, he’s not going to have money for three meals tomorrow.

How could he have let himself get distracted? Of course Yuri was just trying to get him to let his guard down—and like an absolute amateur, Ashe _had._ Yuri probably even hadn’t been the one to save him that day. Goddess, Ashe could _never_ let anyone know about this, or he’d never be able to live it down.

He grits his teeth—he’s fast, but not fast enough. Yuri turns left on a fork up ahead, and Ashe very nearly follows before he skids to a stop and remembers the map of the manor interior he’d memorized just earlier—Bernadetta’s room would be right, then up another flight of stairs. If he just moves as fast as he can, he’ll almost certainly be able to get there before Yuri does… as long as this isn’t just Yuri toying with him again and leading him into some trap.

Ashe would love to proceed with caution, but there simply isn’t time. He sprints down the corridor and up the stairs, finding Bernadetta’s room in under a minute. It’s locked, but no problem—that just means Yuri hasn’t gotten here yet. He fishes out his favorite lockpick—

Across the hall, he catches movement in the corner of his eye. Ashe looks up just in time to see Yuri look shocked, then frustrated, and then Ashe isn’t seeing much of anything at all when he holds his arm out and casts some sort of faith magic that lights the corridor up with blinding white light. It doesn’t hurt, though—a magical flashbang, then?—and he doesn’t let go of the doorknob, but when he can open his eyes again, Yuri’s wrenching the lockpick out of his hands. “Out of my way—”

“ _You_ get out of my way—” Ashe draws his knife, keeping one hand firmly on the doorknob, and makes to level the blade above Yuri’s neck, but Yuri’s faster and grabs his wrist to pin his arm against the wall. “Let go!”

Yuri sneers. “Aw, how cute. You really think I’ll listen to you like that?”

It’s risky, but Ashe doesn’t have a choice. He lets go of the doorknob, but grabs onto Yuri’s wrist before he can open the door and takes advantage of his initial surprise to flip their positions and pin Yuri to the wall instead. Yuri scowls, but Ashe anticipates the kick by how his leg tenses and he digs his knee against Yuri’s thigh before he can move. “How about now?” Ashe hisses.

This close, their difference in height is much more significant than the mere three inches it is. Yuri glowers up at Ashe, struggling against his grip for another few seconds before exhaling sharply and giving up. “And here I thought you were still as weak as before.”

“I’ve never been strong.” Ashe presses down harder on Yuri’s thigh until the softest, most vulnerable of gasps leaves his lips, eyes shimmering with unshed, and most likely involuntary, tears. “Just desperate.”

“A—” Yuri groans, pushing fruitlessly at his grip again. “A-Ashe…”

Ashe stares. He hadn’t given his name away before this, and hearing Yuri say it now… Is Ashe just thinking too much into this? But now that he thinks about it, their position right now is a little… well… _suggestive_ is certainly one word. If Ashe moves his knee just slightly to the side, he’d be slotting his leg right in between Yuri’s thighs… if he leaned in just slightly closer, their chests would be pressed up against each other, and he thinks he’d be able to feel Yuri’s breath on his skin. And the growing flush across Yuri’s cheeks isn’t helping in the least.

Yuri blinks, and a smug (if pained) grin spreads on his pretty pink lips. “Aha… haha. I know what you’re thinking. Does the naughty little bird like what he sees?”

“Q-Quiet.”

“Ooh, I heard that. Are you sure you want me to be quiet right now? I bet you’d love to hear my—” Yuri cuts himself off with another downright dirty moan as Ashe shifts his knee and grinds it down against the front of Yuri’s pants. “My—ah, fuck, _nngh—_ ”

“Careful,” Ashe whispers. “Wouldn’t want others to hear you now.” If he’s being honest, though, he thinks he might actually like seeing Yuri like this, all blushing and panting against him.

“Y… You…” Yuri looks up at him from beneath long lashes, a scowl curling down his mouth. “I gotta say, I never expected this from you.”

 _Me neither,_ Ashe decides against saying.

“But I won’t lose.” Yuri grins. “Never have, never will.” With another burst of bright faith magic, he catches Ashe just off-guard enough to twist out of his grip and make a grab for the doorknob—Ashe curses and shoves him away, but he miscalculates and ends up pushing them both onto the floor, Ashe landing atop Yuri’s chest. “Are you kidding me?” Yuri snaps, pushing a dizzy Ashe off. “Just let me get this over with already!”

Ashe scrambles to get back on his feet, trying to ignore the stars in his vision. “Get _away_ from that door,” he growls, but the lock _clicks_ at another touch of Yuri’s hand, and Yuri grins as he pushes the door open—Ashe shoves him again, this time hard enough to push him flat on his face inside the room, and Ashe nearly trips on Yuri’s legs trying to get inside first—

Only for him to look up, and find a completely empty room.

For a moment, all Ashe can do is stare blankly, knife in one hand and Yuri’s wrist in the other.

It’s undoubtedly Bernadetta von Varley’s bedroom, at least. All sorts of personal knickknacks are scattered around the room, along with some basic furniture and a bed loaded with stuffed animals. But there’s no sign of Bernadetta herself, as if she’d up and disappeared while they were in the middle of—

“Fuck!” Yuri spits. He’s still trapped beneath Ashe, and Ashe intends on keeping it that way for as long as possible. “She went out through the window. Look.”

Ashe turns to stare, even more blankly, at the window by the bed. The _opened_ window.

“Is this a joke?” is all he can muster.

Yuri shoves him off, and this time Ashe is too exhausted to protest. “Well, well.” Yuri sneers. “This hunt just got a lot more interesting. But she can’t have gotten far. I’ll chase her down for the rest of the night if I have to.”

Ashe stands up, dusting his pants off. He’d stolen these expensive clothes for nothing? “Unless she took a horse. They’ve got a stable, and I heard she’s half-decent at riding. Not even you can keep up with one, I’m guessing.”

“Ever the smart one, aren’t you.” Yuri sighs and runs a hand through his hair—it had been coiffed perfectly during the ball, but their scuffle had disarranged it so much that it looks like how Ashe imagines it usually does. For one second, he thinks he actually likes how Yuri looks this way more. “You realize this is all your fault? This would have been over ten minutes ago if you had just stepped back and let me have my way like a good little boy.”

“Y-You…” Ashe scowls, meaning to say something witty and scathing in response, but his mind gets stuck on Yuri’s last three words and refuses to move on, like a train abruptly jolting into a stop.

Yuri’s brows rise until they nearly disappear under his hairline. “Oh. Did that awaken something in you?”

“What? No! Ugh!” Ashe shoves his knife back in his coat, casting a glance out the open window. The daughter of Count Varley was known for being creative and resourceful if she wanted to get out of something, and based on the lack of blankets on the bed, she must’ve used the classic blanket-rope technique.

Yuri seems to notice the same, because he inclines his head in the direction of the window and grins. “How about this? We’re still going to be looking for her, so why don’t we just make it a little… contest?”

“Contests usually have prizes.”

“What, the money for her head isn’t enough for you? Do you want something from me as well?” Yuri leans against the bedpost, his smile sharp enough to cut. “Fine. I’m alright with those conditions. But that means you’ll have to give me whatever I want when I win.”

“ _When_ you win?” Ashe scoffs. “Fine! I’m alright with that too.” There’s no way he’s going to lose—he’s had the map of Fódlan memorized since he started this job.

But if he does lose…

He glances at Yuri’s face again, watching the way his smug smile spreads across his face, and feels a shiver run down his spine. Unless Ashe wants to find out whatever Yuri wants from him, this is a contest he can’t afford to lose. Possibly literally.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading (❁´◡`❁) if you liked this, check out [this tweet](https://twitter.com/featherxs/status/1239788477807349760)!
> 
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